


Pulling Strings

by damtoti



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damtoti/pseuds/damtoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia always takes what he wants.  But when time passes and Russia has yet to lay a finger on him, Prussia decides he's not going to sit around waiting for the worst to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Strings

“Ah – Prussia!" Lithuania darts past him and blocks the path to the door. "You can’t go in there, Russia is–”   
  
“Fuck off, this doesn’t involve you,” Prussia snaps, but when he shoves Lithuania to the side he uses less force than he could. Maybe he feels bad for the shit Lithuania goes through every day.  
  
‘Maybe’, because he knows Lithuania is getting blamed for what he’s about to do, and he’s going to do it anyways.  
  
Prussia slams the door open as Lithuania watches, appalled. It thuds heavily against the wall and rebounds halfway. Russia’s sitting at his desk, a stack of papers before him. His cool, amethyst eyes waver towards them in mild interest.  
  
“Russia!” Prussia growls.  
  
Russia smiles at him, “Gilbert.”  
  
Lithuania squeaks in a panic and tugs Prussia frantically by the arm, “I-I’m so sorry, sir, it’s just **—** he **—** ”  
  
“ _Litva_ ,” Russia says sweetly, so sweetly, and Lithuania goes pale, automatically releasing his hold, “Is there a problem with our guest voicing his concerns with me?”  
  
“No, no, of course not!” Lithuania stumbles back from Russia’s mere look of disapproval.  
  
“And?” he prompts.  
  
“Sorry! I’m sorry, sir!”  
  
“Good,” Russia says, “Then you are not needed here,” and dismisses him with a wave of the hand.  
  
Lithuania glances at Prussia anxiously, then back at Russia. But as Russia narrows his eyes, he backs away, helpless. Russia waits until his footsteps fade down the hall, then turns amicably towards Prussia.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Prussia steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s a feeling of finality to the way it clicks shut.  
  
“So what is it you wish to say?” Russia asks, pushing his paperwork away.  
  
“I know what you want, so let’s get this over with.”  
  
“I really don’t know what you mean.” The wide-eyed look on Russia's face is so over the top.  
  
“Don’t play stupid, asshole!” Prussia snarls.  
  
Russia obviously knows, but he’s trying to force Prussia to say it himself.  
  
In a fluid motion, Prussia shrugs off his sweater. Russia’s eyes lift from the floor to meet his. It takes all of Prussia’s willpower to stand in place as Russia stands up.  
  
“What are you doing?” Russia asks softly, but by the way he approaches him, almost predatory, he knows.  
  
“What you’ve been waiting to do,” Prussia says, his expression resigned.  
  
The Baltic states haven’t told him about their past with Russia, but it’s obvious by the way they tremor at Russia's approaching footsteps, or the way Russia's hand lingers at their shoulders, his eyes grating over them almost hungrily.  
  
Yet Russia never says a word, always feigns ignorance to his own threatening demeanor. He giggles when his sudden presence startles them, as if he can’t imagine why. But Prussia is tired of constantly being on edge. Once it’s done, it’s done. No more lurking threats behind Russia’s smiles, no more waiting for it to happen. He’ll be able to walk through Russia’s house without jumping at every creak of floorboards. After he sees the worst of Russia he no longer has to fear the uncertainty.  
  
So he stands there, determined to take whatever comes.  
  
The realization makes his hands shake.  
  
_He’s going to let Russia have his way with him._  
  
To hide his quivering fingers, he starts unbuttoning his shirt – desperate to get it over with. Russia’s large hands push his away.  
  
He smiles, courteous, as he says, “Let me.”  
  
Prussia looks away, face burning, as Russia undresses him.  
  
The slow pace is agonizing – not at all what he expected. Russia was supposed to devour him like the animal he was, all ferocity and lust. Where was the roughness and anger? If he was being beaten up he could at least lose sight of what was going on.  
  
But like this – gentle, loving – Prussia is painfully conscious of each button coming undone, his clothes coming unraveled like present wrapping being peeled off, skin slowly exposed. He’s supposed to hate this, but Russia isn’t playing his part of the villain.  
  
He cringes as Russia kisses him at the base of his neck. It’s gentle and fleeting, but the touch stings like venom. Russia rubs slow circles down his back as if he can sense Prussia’s discomfort and is trying to be soothing. The kisses grow firmer and wetter as he works upwards. Prussia tries to focus on something else so he can pretend Russia isn’t leaving love marks on his neck. He looks around Russia’s room. The world around him feels unrealistically still.  
  
Russia’s room is silent except for the sound of their breathing, and the wet noises Russia makes as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses against his jawline. Each resounding smack of lips makes Prussia feel like his heart just dropped into his stomach, and when he tries to breathe he feels it all lurch back up.  
  
“Urghh,” he manages to whine, covering his mouth before he can vomit. His stomach heaves once, but nothing comes out.  
  
Russia immediately stops and pulls away.  
  
With a look that can’t be described as anything but concern – though Prussia knows better – he asks, “Are you alright?”  
  
Prussia looks back at the door. He opens his mouth to shoot out an excuse – the kitchen needs sweeping, he was supposed to help with dinner. He’s ready to make something up and dash away, but then he realizes what game Russia is playing. Russia wants him to admit to his fear. A control mechanism. Russia wants his victims in a constant state of unrest.  
  
He shakes away the discomfort. He’ll have time to feel it later.  
  
“I’m fine,” Prussia snaps, “Get on with it.”  
  
Russia chuckles, too immediately agreeable.  
  
With a gentle tug at the back of his head draws Prussia closer. Their lips meet with the force of clouds, light caresses that leave only a soft tingling as Russia angles his face the other way. Prussia is too stunned to do anything as Russia kisses him again and suckles his bottom lip. For some reason Russia isn’t dominating him like he should be. He doesn’t understand this, but he refuses to accept it.  
  
His eyes snap open, annoyed. Feeling the need to provoke some sort of reaction, he grabs Russia roughly and demands entrance with his tongue. Russia makes a soft sound of surprise, but obliges – no, that’s not what he wants! – and their tongues roll against each other with horrifying familiarity.  
  
Prussia jerks out of Russia’s hold and withdraws immediately, panting. He’s disgusted with himself. It’s one thing to let Russia do as he wanted, it’s another to make a move on Russia himself.  
  
Russia gives him a puzzled look, as if he doesn’t know what’s wrong, or what he’s tricking Prussia into doing.  
  
Hah. Yeah right.  
  
“Gilbert?”  
  
And he _hates it_ when Russia says his name with that false sense of familiarity.  
  
Prussia takes a deep breath, then snaps. “Why are _you_ still fully clothed?”  
  
Russia chuckles, shrugging, “I can take it off, it that’s what you want. It is only fair…” and begins pulling off his trademark beige coat.  
  
Prussia chokes slightly because it’s _not at all_ what he meant, but he says nothing because Russia always finds a way to twist his words.  
  
Russia undresses impossibly slow. Prussia refuses to stand there and watch Russia strip as if he likes it, so he begins removing the rest of his own clothing too. With a quick jerk his underwear is gone, and that’s when he realizes that Russia is _watching_ him, the pleased, lazy smile never leaving his face.  
  
Russia’s room feels too _cold_.  
  
He shivers and glares at Russia, “What?”  
  
Russia’s eyes flicker down his form. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
Russia approaches him, but Prussia does nothing. He stands firmly in imitation of a soldier, eyes staring blankly ahead, looking anywhere but at Russia.  
  
Prussia isn’t surprised that Russia towers over him. He is surprised when Russia pulls an arm around his waist and holds him close – is this...an embrace? Before Prussia can make sense of it all, Russia breaks away and leads him to his bed. The touch was too fleeting to understand.  
  
Russia pushes him down into the mattress, but then readjusts his limbs so he can lie comfortably. Prussia’s throat feels tight  
  
“Hurry up,” he hisses.  
  
“Not yet. We have a problem,” Russia looks at him pointedly, his fingers running down Prussia’s stomach to curl around his flaccid cock.  
  
Prussia shivers and eases away from the touch. “Just do it.”  
  
“It will hurt.”  
  
“I don’t care! I said you could do whatever you want!”  
  
“Then I’d prefer we start with you,” Russia brushes pale strands of hair from his forehead, “If that is alright.”  
  
Why is Russia acting like he has a choice? He always takes what he wants. Prussia doesn’t want there to be pleasure, but it’s not like Russia will listen if he argues. He shifts his head away and says nothing. Unfortunately, Russia takes it as a sign of agreement.  
  
He feels Russia’s hand close around his cock. Immediately his eyes scrunch closed and he swallows a sob. It’s unbearable. He can’t escape from the fact that Russia is touching him so intimately, and the fact that he’s being gentle makes it so much worse.  
  
Russia asks him if he likes it, and his shrug probably isn’t very convincing.  
  
There’s a brief moment of relief where he feels Russia’s weight lift away. Then he feels wet heat enveloping his cock.  
  
Russia’s mouth.  
  
Prussia gasps sharply, moans, then chokes over his own pleasure. No, no, _no_ , this isn't supposed to feel good. Why can't Russia just hurt him?  
  
He grits his teeth for the first few minutes as Russia teases him, tongue swirling around his cock head.  
  
But when Russia bobs his head all the way up his length a strangled cry escapes his lips.  
  
He can hear Russia chuckling from above, returning to the agonizingly slow pace. He needs movement, friction. His hips buck up on their own accord, but Russia forces him down.  
  
“Russia…” he cries, then cringes at how weak his own voice sounds. He expected to beg, but only as Russia tortured him. Not - not like this! This is so much worse. At least if he was being whipped he’d have an excuse for the tears running down his face. Now he just whimpers, a flustered mess.  
  
“That’s not my name,” Russia hums.  
  
Prussia swallows thickly as another wave of heat shoots through him only to leave him sobbing. He shakes his head viciously.

"Say my name, Gilbert.  Ask me nicely."  
  
Prussia hisses through his teeth.  “Ivan…” he tries again.  
  
“Yes?” Russia whispers, and Prussia can feel his breath against his erection, “What is it, Gilbert?”  
  
_He hates Russia._  
  
“Please, just get it over with."

_He hates himself._

"Hm? What do you want me to do?"  
  
_He really fucking hates himself._

"P-Please, let me finish, Ivan!”  
  
Russia takes him all the way in and he comes undone. He forgets that it’s Russia’s mouth slurping around his cock, Russia’s fingers playing with his balls, and lets himself fall into the bliss. He can hear his own voice crying out in the background, so distant.  
  
He comes into Russia’s mouth, and even worse, Russia swallows.  
  
Russia’s pleased eyes meet his. Prussia watches wearily, too resigned to speak, as the larger nation curls up against him. He says nothing when Russia’s hand creeps up his thigh to stroke his ass. But when Russia places a loving kiss at his temple, a sob breaks out.  
  
“Stop!”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
And there it is again – that false look of concern.  
  
“Just – Just stop it! Stop with the pretend niceness.” Prussia begs.  
  
He can’t take it anymore. Russia knows something that he doesn’t, and he can’t even tell what Russia is trying to do anymore. Where is the pain? Prussia already lowered his guard, so why isn’t he hurting him?  
  
Russia tilts his head. “What?”  
  
“These games!”  
  
Prussia’s too exhausted to feel angry, but he wishes Russia would just drop the act and admit what he's doing.  
  
Russia chuckles softly, “I’m not playing any games.”  
  
“Stop lying! You – you’re supposed to _hurt_ me! You're supposed to violate me! Why are you being so gentle?”  
  
Russia immediately bursts into laughter, cuddling him close like he was a child that just said something foolishly amusing.  
  
“Ah, Gilbert,” he says, his lips brushing against Prussia’s neck, “Why would I need force for someone who came to me so willingly?”

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from the kink meme.
> 
> "Set while Prussia is living with Russia. As far as Prussia can tell, Russia never actually rapes anyone or even threatens it in so many words, but the implied threat is there in the way he invades personal space, forces people into humiliating outfits for his amusement, etc. One night, Prussia's had enough and goes to Russia's room himself. He figures once it's done, at least it's done.
> 
> It... doesn't go as expected. Russia is downright gentle in the way he handles Prussia and speaks sweetly to him. The closest he gets to violence is holding Prussia down. Prussia is too shocked and scared to do much but lie there and take it. When he asks why Russia isn't using more force/intimidation, he's laughed off—why would Russia need to force against someone who came to him willingly?"


End file.
